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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26590684">World Enough And Time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stephquiem/pseuds/Stephquiem'>Stephquiem</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Not Oblivious (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Divergent Timelines, M/M, No beta we fall like Crowley, Non-Linear Narrative, Purely Accidental Time Travel, Time Travel, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, not always anyway</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:27:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,698</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26590684</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stephquiem/pseuds/Stephquiem</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For Aziraphale, there were always two Crowleys: the First Crowley, the one he met in the Garden, the one he's spent 6000 years meeting across human history. And there is the Second Crowley, the one who comes to him across time, again and again, propelled, it would seem, by some unknown tragedy. Both, his hereditary enemy. His dearest friend.</p>
<p>For Crowley, there is a Before, and there is an After. Before, he spent 6000 years as Hell's agent on Earth, seeing Aziraphale occasionally, working together where they could get away with it. After... After, he's drawn back over and over, like he's attached by a tether that just won't let him go. </p>
<p>Not that he <i>wants</i> it to let him go. The alternative...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welcome to my weird Good Omens Time Travel AU. You know when you just get a weird idea in your head and it doesn't leave for awhile and you just think "well, let's see how this goes"? That might be where my head is at.</p><p>May update sporadically.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>London, July 2008</em>
</p><p>It was, all told, an altogether ordinary evening.</p><p>There was nothing particular to set this evening aside from any of the many, many evenings Aziraphale spent alone in his bookshop in Soho. He had ushered out the last lingering customers from the shop before closing up for the night, and had done the sort of perfunctory tidying around the shop that amounted to rearranging his books in an increasingly indecipherable organizational system. It was not so late yet by the time his ministrations were done, but the angel had no plans this evening, nowhere to be and no one expecting him, so he turned off the lights in the shop and took the stairs at the back to the small flat above to retire for the evening with a book and mug of cocoa.</p><p>It was how he usually spent his evenings, more often than not. The quiet ones when he wasn't called away to perform blessings, or meeting a particular demon somewhere for dinner or drinks or the theater to discuss work and their Arrangement and whatever other excuse. Nights like this, the angel had no orders--his time was his own for the moment. And he had not seen Crowley--in any capacity, in any iteration of their relationship--in... a while. It was difficult, sometimes, to keep track.</p><p>Aziraphale had just settled himself in his armchair with a happy little wiggle, white angel wing mug in hand and a book at his side. A quiet evening alone with his books was not unwelcome, if extremely ordinary and only a little bit lonely sometimes. And whatever the angel may have claimed if anyone should ask, he was never really opposed to the odd interruption--at least not when it came from a particular demonic source.</p><p>The adage about minding what one wishes for applies even for celestial beings, unfortunately.</p><p>Aziraphale reached out for his book--a well-loved and equally well-preserved tome of Robert Frost poetry--and it's then, just as his fingers connect with the spine of the book, there it is, like a button had been pressed somewhere to set it all in motion--</p><p>
  <em>Crash! Thud!</em>
</p><p>Aziraphale paused, tilting his head to the side to listen, oddly nonplussed by what was, by all measures, a decidedly abnormal series of sounds to be coming up from what ought to be an empty bookshop below him.</p><p>To be fair, would-be burglars posed little real threat to an angel, even if the noise <em>hadn't</em> sounded like it came from somewhere in the middle of the shop.</p><p>With decidedly unhurried movements, Aziraphale set his mug down on the coffee table and straightened up before crossing to the door that led to the stairs down into the shop. He was not in a particular hurry--this was, by now, old habit, and there was a certain pattern to these things. When he pulled open the door, Aziraphale half-expected to find a demon already there--a little unsteady, perhaps, a little less well-kept than he generally was when they saw each other the usual way--but the stairs were dark and empty. </p><p>"Crowley?"</p><p>There was a sound--an awful little keening sound that froze Aziraphale on the stairs for a moment before he shook himself and determinedly made his way down to the shop. "Crowley?" he called out again. "Are you all right?" There was silence, then a terrible whining, and a sound like someone sliding across the floor.</p><p>It was not entirely dark in the shop--there was streetlight filtering through the closed blinds. Aziraphale did nothing to change this for the moment, half-worried that the sudden brightness would spook the demon when he was in this sort of state, and half-worried that a sudden flashing light would send him back where he'd come from prematurely. That had happened a few times over the millennia. </p><p>Aziraphale hadn't seen Crowley yet, but he could <em>hear</em> him, could hear the distressed hitch of his breathing, heard the way his movements suddenly stilled as Aziraphale walked in his direction. The angel, for his part, took slow, measured steps, like he was approaching an injured animal. "Crowley?" he tried again.</p><p>Rounding a shelf, the angel found him, there in a dark corner--yellow eyes glowing, fully serpentine, in the darkness, wide and staring at Aziraphale like... like...</p><p>Well. So it was to be <em>that</em> sort of night, then. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Aziraphale has a very strange encounter with a certain demon that leaves him with more questions than answers.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Mesopotamia, c. 2900 BCE</em>
</p><p>In retrospect, Aziraphale realized that the first time for him could not have been the first time for Crowley.</p><p>Very few of their firsts lined up, most likely, with only some notable exceptions. Their first meeting, on the wall of Eden, when Crowley was still Crawly. Their first argument, before the Ark. Their first time working together, of a fashion--<em>on </em>the Ark, if one counted Aziraphale's deliberate feigned ignorance of a certain snake demon and a few extra stowaways as "working together." </p><p>But for Aziraphale, the aspect of their relationship that was, by turns, the most peculiar and the most <em>dear</em>, began with very little fanfare. It began with an empty stretch of road, a handful of figs, and a donkey.</p><p>The donkey in question had decided he would go no further toward their destination--the city of Uruk, where the angel was meant to be doling out a few blessings. He'd been travelling with a small group of merchants, who had since left him a ways back, and now his only companion refused to take so much as another step in the right direction.</p><p>Aziraphale sighed heavily, finally giving up for the moment. It <em>was </em>getting toward the hottest part of the day, after all, a not ideal time to be travelling on foot. He could have easily miracled himself and the wayward ass there, but... well, he certainly wasn't in a <em>hurry</em>, and it was actually rather nice under the fig trees that lined the side of the road, and now that he thought about it, he was feeling a mite peckish...</p><p>(It was a little too early in the season for well-ripened figs, but the angel wasn't thinking of that at the moment, and so the figs he picked found themselves suddenly in better shape they had been before.)</p><p>And so Aziraphale found himself sitting under a tree, on a hot afternoon, nibbling on a fig and keeping a perfunctory eye on the animal to make sure it didn't wander off. </p><p>He'd swear he only looked away for a moment, really. Only looked down at the fruit in his lap to select the next one, and not paying particularly close attention. Really, he might not have noticed anything at all if there had been more to distract him, but as it was, he felt a... <em>blip, </em>something pinging off his angelic senses, like the crest of a wave hitting him before he even knew it was coming. </p><p>Aziraphale's head popped up in surprise just as he heard-- </p><p>"Oof!" A sound like something hitting the ground, then an angry braying and a familiar voice, "Oi, all right, all right, sssorry." And then a shape was rolling out, away from the tree and a disgruntled donkey, and the angel had to blink several times before the image coalesced into something familiar as the shape sat up. And then, in an uncertain tone, "Aziraphale?"</p><p>Aziraphale blinked, then shook his head, before pushing himself to his feet. "Crawly?" Because it was very clearly just that demon on the ground now, twisting around to see him with a look of such naked <em>relief</em> that Aziraphale almost stumbled under the weight of it, though he couldn't explain why. "What on Earth are you doing here?"</p><p>The demon waved a hand about as if indicating something--though Aziraphale couldn't begin to fathom <em>what--</em>before getting to his feet. "Oh, you know," Crawly said. "'S not like I choose where and when I turn up is it?" </p><p>"Oh." Of course, if Aziraphale had orders to be in the area, it stood to reason that Crawly might as well. "Right. I suppose you're headed for the city, too, then?" He didn't ask where the demon had come from. That little cresting surge of <em>something </em>hadn't felt particularly like a demonic miracle, but Crawly could teleport where he pleased as well as Aziraphale could.</p><p>"Eh, I guess so?" Crawly was looking at him with a very odd expression. "Never turned up on the side of the road before, to be honest. This is new." When Aziraphale clearly didn't know what to make of that, Crawly asked, "Er, what year is it?"</p><p>"Pardon?"</p><p>"When did we last see each other?" </p><p>It was Aziraphale's turn now to give an odd look. What a strange question. "About a century, I think. Since..." He hesitated. "Well, since the Flood." It had not exactly been an auspicious occasion, and they hadn't parted on the best of terms, with Aziraphale still sticking to Heaven's party lines, despite whatever he might turn a blind eye to, or privately think. Even now, he found himself wringing his hands nervously, absently, even as a part of him knew quite well he should not care one bit what this demon or any other thought about his actions, specifically Heaven-sanctioned or otherwise.</p><p>But, well, it just seemed <em>rude </em>not to care <em>at all, </em>didn't it?</p><p>"Right," Crawly said, and from his perturbed expression, Aziraphale was already steeling himself for whatever came next, even if he thought the whole thing was unfair--he'd been minding his own business before Crawly came along, after all. But then, instead, the demon sighed, and asked, "You don't know what the heaven's going on here, do you?"</p><p>"Er..." He rather thought he'd said as much already, actually. "No?"</p><p>Crawly groaned--a bit more dramatically than was strictly necessary, if you asked Aziraphale--and said, "Well, if you wait around long enough, you're going to get a bit of a show. Least as I understand it."</p><p>This was, the angel thought, a most confusing conversation, like they were speaking in riddles, and it was starting to get rather bothersome, all told. Aziraphale felt rather like he was being made fun of, though he couldn't understand the joke. Perhaps that <em>was</em> the joke. "Well, I do need to be getting on..." he said, stepping back towards the road, even though he'd had no plans to leave yet <em>before</em> the demon had turned up. He stopped, though, when Crawly seemed to move as if to follow. "What are you doing?"</p><p>"What?" the demon sounded incredulous. "You're not leaving me here."</p><p>"I most certainly am. What if someone sees you?" </p><p>"Eh, easy enough to make humans look the other way for a bit. Just drop me wherever you're staying, and I'll be out of your hair in..." He seemed to ponder something. "...Well, a bit."</p><p>Aziraphale stared at him. He was, quite plainly, completely lost. After a long moment, wherein his mind scrambled to form something resembling cohesive thought, he finally said, "I didn't mean <em>humans</em>. I meant..." And then he jabbed a finger skyward pointedly. "I don't know what you're playing at, Crawly--"</p><p>"I'm not--" Crawly sighed suddenly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, it's not just that I'm being purposefully difficult here. Thing is, I've already explained this to you."</p><p>Could angels get headaches? Aziraphale thought he was getting a headache. "What are you talking about?"</p><p>"Well, not <em>you</em> you, but also kind of you."</p><p>Yes, yes, that was definitely a headache starting just behind his eyes. Perhaps even a migraine.</p><p>"See, at some point, in the past, I will have told you, in the future, what the heaven's going on right now, and if I told <em>you </em>now, it'd... I don't know. Probably cause a paradox or something." Crawly looked away, and Aziraphale had the impression that he was uncomfortable. "Don't really want to try it. Anyway. Understand?"</p><p>No. Somehow, even less now. </p><p>"Never mind. It'll make more sense eventually." Crawly started walking toward the tree where the donkey was, miraculously, still waiting, munching now on tall grass with a remarkably disaffected air for a beast of burden. "I wouldn't worry about your higher-ups. I'm not sure they ever notice." At Aziraphale's dubious huff, Crawly amended, "Well, probably. Haven't so far."</p><p>At this point, the angel really didn't know what to say, so he simply said, "Well, regardless, I think it's time I be on my way," and took up the donkey's lead and coaxed it out onto the road again, unsurprised when Crawly followed. He didn't seem in a particular hurry to get to wherever he'd been headed--and for all his nonsense, it didn't really sound like he'd found Aziraphale on purpose--nor did he question Aziraphale's slow pace. </p><p>They walked on for a bit in silence until curiosity finally got the better of him, and Aziraphale asked at least <em>one</em> of the questions that was plaguing him. "Not to be rude, my dear, but what are you wearing?" Aziraphale didn't think he'd seen anyone wearing clothing so form-fitting since they stopped constructing them out of leaves.</p><p>"What?" Crawly looked down at himself, holding his arms out to the sides as if to inspect himself. "I'll have you know this outfit's <em>very</em> cool where I just came from."</p><p>"And where was that? Tell me, so I can hopefully avoid it in the future."</p><p>"Ngk." Crawly looked away, dropping his arms. "Never mind. Tell you next time."</p><p>Aziraphale didn't know what to say to that, but he knew when to let a subject drop, so they fell into silence again, though it was mostly companionable, despite everything. Crawly seemed quieter than he'd ever been, at least once they were out on the road, but then again, Aziraphale reasoned that he didn't really know the demon that well. <em>Shouldn't</em> know him, really, at all. Any other angel in his position would have sent Crawly back to hell first thing. But Crawly had, to date, never done anything to him to warrant such ill treatment.</p><p>Still, it was odd enough for Aziraphale to notice, even considering the rest of their interaction. </p><p>They didn't quite reach Uruk, though they nearly made it. They were a little more than an hour's journey out when Crawly stumbled suddenly, his body giving a great involuntary shudder. When Aziraphale turned to him in concern, to ask what was wrong, his concern turned to mild alarm when the demon reached out and seized his hand. A jolt, a shock, like touching a live wire, ran up his arm. Crawly held fast when the angel instinctively jerked back, and Aziraphale stared down at their hands. Perplexed by their joining. Perplexed by the not unpleasant feeling that it caused. </p><p>It was, it would occur to him some time later, the first time he had been touched by Crawly.</p><p>"Listen," Crawly was saying, forcing Aziraphale's attention back to his face. Crawly's expression was suddenly tense, and his hand tightened around Aziraphale's. "I think I'm going. But you'll see me soon. Like this. I'll find you in Egypt in two or three decades."</p><p>"I don't know where--"</p><p>"You're going." Crawly smiled, and it was a little like a grimace. "Trust me." </p><p>Aziraphale opened his mouth to say something--perhaps to point out that he <em>shouldn't </em>trust him, he was a <em>demon</em>, or perhaps to ask again what this was about--but then Crawly was fading. Quite literally, becoming less corporeal before Aziraphale's very eyes, beneath his hand, though still smiling--a little wider now--until there was nothing there was nothing but empty air where he'd stood.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next chapter has (some) explanations and also a Crowley POV.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which an explanation is given.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Egypt, 2874 BCE</em>
</p><p>When Aziraphale received orders to go to Egypt, he tried not to think much of it. He'd been spending quite a lot of time around this particular corner of the Earth over the last few decades, it was not a shock. When Crawly didn't appear with more strange riddles, Aziraphale told himself that it was all silly nonsense. Just Crawly having him on for a laugh. When a month had passed without incident, Aziraphale was sure that that was precisely what had happened.</p><p>His work in Egypt was mostly observing, which in this instance, Aziraphale was quite all right with, since the humans around him seemed to be doing very clever things. </p><p>This time, Aziraphale was not present when it happened. He didn't see it--or <em>feel</em> it--or receive any other indication that something might be amiss until late one night, after the angel had bid good night to his companions and gone back to his rooms, still humming with leftover delight from pouring over charts and discussing ideas. He was so preoccupied, he very nearly didn't notice the demonic presence behind his door. As it was, he was already opening the door before it occurred to him to pause and consider what might be waiting for him on the other side.</p><p>Of course, "waiting" may have been a bit of a strong term.</p><p>Crawly was sprawled out, his face half-buried in a cushion, appearing for all the world to be asleep. He didn't move when Aziraphale entered, only snuffled a bit when the door closed behind him, but otherwise didn't wake. He looked much like he had the last time they'd crossed paths--still clad in bafflingly form-fitting clothes that Aziraphale couldn't imagine were terribly comfortable, though now Crawly was also wearing a pair of glasses with darkened lenses on his face, presumably to cover his eyes, although they'd been knocked askew in his sleep.</p><p>Aziraphale stood for a long moment, staring, baffled. He didn't understand how Crawly was <em>here</em>. Almost instinctively, Aziraphale reached out to check the wards that he'd thrown up on his rooms when he'd first settled here--not to keep out Crawly specifically, of course, but to keep out any potential unwanted guests of the occult variety. The wards were still very much in place, apparently untouched, which only served to further confuse him. He couldn't imagine how Crawly had gotten in there in the first place, let alone been comfortable enough to <em>sleep. </em>Aziraphale had never done it himself--he didn't need to, and he'd so far not been curious enough to try it--and he rather assumed demons similarly lacked the necessity of sleep. </p><p>Reaching out a tentative hand, Aziraphale touched the demon's shoulder--mindful, this time, to touch only where he was clothed in a strange-looking black tunic--giving it a gentle shake. "Crawly," he said. "Crawly, wake up."</p><p>Despite his attempted gentleness, the demon startled terribly, gasping and flinching back before he saw Aziraphale, who drew back guiltily, even though <em>Crawly</em> was the one breaking into his rooms and falling asleep there in the first place. Still, Crawly seemed to relax considerably at the sight of him, and then he smiled--a soft, unguarded thing that should not have looked at all at home on his face--and said, "Mornin', angel."</p><p>Something about this--the way Crawly was looking at him, the way he said <em>angel </em>for what may have been, for Aziraphale, the first time--filled Aziraphale with an odd, warm glow that he couldn't name. He took several steps back. "Ah, actually, it's quite late, really."</p><p>Crawly turned to look toward the darkened windows, his expression thoughtful--he'd lifted his glasses so they rested on top of his head now, so Aziraphale couldn't even claim he was misreading things later. "Huh. So it is." When he turned back, he paused, frowning. "What's wrong?"</p><p>Aziraphale had a great many questions, truth be told, but he started with the simplest. "How did you get in here? The wards--"</p><p>Crawly shrugged. "Dunno. Always just kind of pop in wherever you are. Feels less like 'breaking in' from this perspective and more like... just changing rooms really abruptly." He did a complicated-looking maneuver to get himself to his feet without, somehow, using his hands at all. He stretched his arms over his head, his face pinching as if something pained him, which Aziraphale added to the growing list of odd things about this whole situation--he had <em>seen </em>Crawly heal before, and knew he was perfectly capable of doing so. </p><p>Aziraphale cleared his throat. "The last time I saw you--"</p><p>"Er, right. When was that exactly?"</p><p>"You don't remember?" The angel's brow furrowed. "But--"</p><p>"I mean. Might do. Depends on when it was."</p><p>Aziraphale let out a frustrated sigh. "About twenty-five years ago. You said--"</p><p>"Where were we?" Crawly interrupted. "And, uh, still <em>when</em>, I'm not real clear on when we are <em>now, </em>if I'm honest. I gathered we're in Egypt, but usually you leave me notes so I know where and when I am if you're not around right away when I turn up."</p><p>Not knowing what to make of <em>any</em> of that, Aziraphale settled for beginning with what he <em>knew, </em>"Uruk," he said. "A few hours' journey outside of Uruk."</p><p>"Oh." Crawly threw up his hands. "See? There you go. I haven't been to Uruk. Not in a few thousand years, anyway."</p><p>Aziraphale closed his eyes. If humans had come up with clever ways of calming their minds like counting to ten or some such, Aziraphale had not heard of it yet, so all he could do at the moment remind himself that it was not very angelic to yell, even at a demon, and even at a demon who kept insisting on being so infuriatingly difficult. </p><p>"You all right?" When Aziraphale opened his eyes, Crawly was peering at him with an expression that bordered on concerned. "Er, it'd really help if you'd tell me when we are."</p><p>"I really, truly, do not understand what you are asking." </p><p>The pinched expression was back. "Right. Okay. It's that early then, I guess."</p><p>"Early?"</p><p>"In history." Crawly turned away and went back to the small nest of cushions he'd apparently gathered from around Aziraphale's room. Aziraphale had a moment to wonder at Crawly's casual and overly familiar way of interacting with the angel's space and things, before the demon dropped down onto a pile of cushions. He'd replaced the glasses over his eyes again. "Look," he said, "I've never had to explain this before."</p><p>Aziraphale approached slowly. "I would appreciate it if you would try. I confess, this is becoming increasingly frustrating to try to understand."</p><p>"Yeah. Yeah, believe me I get that." Crawly seemed to think for a moment, then asked, "You said you saw me on the way to Uruk, yeah? What happened?"</p><p>Sighing, Aziraphale recounted, as best he could manage, their last meeting, feeling, quite frankly, very silly. He was, at least, no longer convinced that Crawly was putting on an elaborate ruse, if only because he couldn't imagine anyone being so dedicated to the task for so long, with so little pay off. He was sure that <em>something </em>very strange was really happening, but not that he wanted any part in it. Probably, he didn't. </p><p>When he'd finished, Aziraphale peered down at Crawly who, for the most part, had merely listened and nodded along, looking, as far as Aziraphale could tell, like this was all very commonplace and sensible to him. </p><p>"Well?" Aziraphale prodded. "What was all of that then?"</p><p>Crawly slowly sat up straight--he'd taken to reclining while Aziraphale talked--and said, slowly and clearly, "I time traveled."</p><p>Aziraphale blinked. Once. Twice. "I beg your pardon?"</p><p>"It's--look, I don't know how to explain it, all right?" Crawly drew his hands up to rub across his face. "Didn't used to be able to do it, and I can't control where I go or when or how long I'm gone for. Just... happens. One minute I'm at home in the twenty-first century, and the next I'm trying not to smash my head in on a side table in some random inn in Someone knows where." Crawly paused, then amended, "Well, not really random. 'S always where you are."</p><p>There was a stool in the room, and Aziraphale chose this moment to sit down on it, as just listening to Crawly was making him feel rather dizzy. "You are trying to tell me," he said, "that you are from two thousand years in the future?"</p><p>"Er." The demon started to say something, seemed to think better of it, then said instead, "Bit longer than that. Never mind. But yeah, from pretty far off in the future."</p><p>"Crawly that is-- That doesn't--" Words failed the angel. He could do little more than stare down at Crawly in disbelief. Oddly, he wasn't even angry, even though part of his mind reasoned that perhaps he ought to be. Perhaps he was right in the beginning--perhaps this was a very foolhardy prank. They'd perhaps stretched quite beyond the bounds of that likelihood, granted, but it still seemed leagues more likely than what Crawly was claiming.</p><p>(Two images, unbidden, sprang to Aziraphale's mind--Crawly's expression, each time he'd first seen Aziraphale. So unguarded, so difficult, at least the angel thought--perhaps foolishly--to fake, and to what end?)</p><p>"I know," Crawly was saying. "I <em>know</em>. But if you think about it--" he held up a finger, and gestured in the air, "--if you <em>think</em> about it, 's not that much 'a leap, is it? Possible to stop time--"</p><p>"Is it?" Aziraphale asked, not because he doubted <em>this--</em>he could not recall having seen it done, but he was aware enough that such a miracle was possible, in the same way that a human might know that running a marathon is possible under the right circumstances--but mostly in the hopes of distracting Crawly with a topic that was more familiar territory.</p><p>"On a good day," Crawly said. "But point is... Point is, it's just another kind of time manipulation, isn't it? Can't be that much of a stretch." He shrugged. "Well. <em>Isn't</em> a stretch at all, since I'm here and not at home in my flat." </p><p>Aziraphale didn't know what to say to that, except, "Well. I'm afraid it's still rather hard to believe, regardless. And a bit harder to prove, unless you can take me with you." He chuckled a little at the last.</p><p>Crawly's expression was doing something complicated that Aziraphale didn't understand. "No. 'Fraid not. Can't seem to take anything I'm not wearing with me."</p><p>"Oh. Well. That's--"</p><p>"Wait!"</p><p>Aziraphale raised his eyebrows in question.</p><p>Crawly leaned forward until Aziraphale could make out his yellow serpentine eyes over the rim of his glasses. "You can detect demons, can't you? You know when we're up here on Earth?"</p><p>"Yes?" Technically, if he was looking. Generally speaking, Aziraphale rarely had cause to go searching for demons, even <em>this </em>demon. Crawly, generally, was very good at finding Aziraphale when he wished to, as evidenced, he supposed, by this nonsense now. </p><p>"Well, then you can find him."</p><p>"Find who?"</p><p>"Me." When Aziraphale only stared at him dubiously, Crawly held his hands up, as if placating. "I mean, if I'm here from the future--which I <em>am</em>--then there's going to be another me running around somewhere, right?" He made a little shooing <em>go on </em>gesture. "So... check."</p><p>"I'm not sure that will do very much," the angel warned. "I could easily be finding <em>any </em>demon this way."</p><p>"Are you saying we all feel the same to you?" Crawly was smiling now. </p><p>"Well," Aziraphale sniffed. "It's not as though I have cause to do this enough to tell a difference. Don't tell me you're not the same."</p><p>Crawly didn't respond except to shrug, though his smile had dimmed just a little. "Right. Well. Go on then."</p><p>Aziraphale sighed, but did as asked. It was a simple enough thing, reaching out with his angelic senses. And yes, there, beside him, the familiar demonic presence of Crawly that he could <em>feel, </em>even if he closed his corporation's eyes and deafened his ears. Though there was something... not <em>right </em>about it, something that Aziraphale couldn't put his finger on, something other than the exhausted aura humming around the demon which was, to be fair, in itself concerning, but at least not <em>surprising, </em>give how Aziraphale had found him.</p><p>Aziraphale pushed out farther, and then farther still, until something <em>pinged! </em>at his senses. There it was, another demonic presence, as familiar-feeling as the one beside him, but more solid somehow, though it wasn't in Egypt. Aziraphale didn't know where exactly it--he--was, it didn't work quite that precisely. It was more like a homing beacon, pointing vaguely north and east. </p><p>"Well?" Crawly asked when Aziraphale focused on him again. "There two of me?"</p><p>"I don't know." He held up his hands defensively as Crawly opened his mouth, presumably to protest. "I don't! You have to admit, it's a very strange story, and that is very flimsy evidence."</p><p>"I guess." Crawly shook his head. "I wish I knew what to tell you. I must convince you somehow, I see quite a lot of you in the future."</p><p>"Perhaps it would help if I could actually see two of you at once," Aziraphale offered, jokingly. "That would certainly make a case for it."</p><p>Crawly made a face. "Eh. Probably a bad idea, that. Two of us in the same room together. Who knows. Might explode."</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>Mayfair, London, 2022</em>
</p><p>When Crowley materialized back home--an hour and close to five thousand years later--he found himself next to his bed in his Mayfair flat, in much the same place he'd been when he'd swanned off to the past. A little wobbly, but nothing he wasn't used to by this point. Messing with time--even involuntarily--always took a lot of energy. Crowley thought sometimes that he time traveled more often the more tired he was, making a kind of vicious feedback loop, but it got hard to tell sometimes. </p><p>He thought about going back to sleep. He thought about seeing how much alcohol it would take for him to get blackout drunk. It had been a minute since he'd given that a go. Sometimes, if he timed it just right, he'd wake up somewhere, some<em>when</em> else. Didn't really matter where he ended up. Even early days when Aziraphale still barely knew him. Crowley'd take it.</p><p>Standing there, alone in his flat, he closed his eyes and did what he'd just told Aziraphale to do--reached out with his own senses, searching out for that one, distinctive angelic presence. There was no worry of <em>Crowley</em> not recognizing it. He'd have felt Aziraphale in a sea of other angels. If he was on Earth, Crowley should be able to feel him. </p><p>He stood in the same spot for a long time. He stood there until the post-travel exhaustion finally caught up to him, and Crowley climbed into bed, curling up into himself and hoping to wake up somewhere better.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Aziraphale encounters Crowley on three separate occasions.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Giza, Egypt, 2560 BCE</em>
</p><p>When Aziraphale ran into Crawly in China a few decades later--a Crawly with long hair and more period- and region-appropriate clothing this time--he attempted to make a joke about the circumstances and how unusually <em>normal </em>they were. Crawly had only given him a strange look and asked if he was there on Heaven's business.</p><p>Aziraphale tried not to think about it too much. He filed it away, like he did, and would, so many things over the years. An odd little chapter that he could not explain, and felt, instinctively, was probably happier leaving quite alone. </p><p>Time passed, and though the angel found his path crossed with Crawly's occasionally across the years, there was no more talk of time travel, or unusual happenstance to their meetings, and by the time they met again in Egypt, Aziraphale had nearly forgotten the whole, strange business. </p><p>They watched the building of the Great Pyramid together. Aziraphale knew--and reminded himself frequently--that he should keep his distance from the demon. They were on opposite sides. It wouldn't do to get chummy with the enemy, no matter how affable that enemy might be. He shouldn't be entertaining converstations with the demon. He shouldn't be saying yes to sharing wine with the demon. He certainly should not be inviting the demon into his lodgings to have that wine and continue their conversation. No. No he should not be doing any of those things.</p><p>Although it didn't occur to him straight away, but it gradually dawned on Aziraphale--as he watched Crawly pace and gesticulate and then sprawl haphazardly while he told a story and the angel dutifully listened--that this was the first time they'd been together like this since... well, possibly ever, actually, but certainly since they'd met on the road to Uruk over three centuries earlier. There had been something very subdued about Crawly on that occasion and the occasion following, in a way that didn't normally hold true. Of course, Aziraphale supposed he was no expert. </p><p>This Crawly also didn't treat Aziraphale's space with a frankly disconcerting level of familiarity. The angel was sure that the prickly feeling at the back of his neck was <em>relief</em>, and certainly not <em>concern. </em></p><p>Even so, there came a point, towards the end of their encounter, when Aziraphale had had enough wine to be brave, and he asked, "Crawly? Do you remember Uruk?"</p><p>Crawly lolled his head to look at the angel. The two of them were sitting now, across from each other at the small table in the room Aziraphale was renting for the duration of his stay there. The demon wasn't wearing glasses--had not, in fact, worn them at all again since the first time--and Aziraphale saw now as he squinted in thought. "Gonna have to be more specific, angel. Remember it how? Something happen to it while I wasn't looking?"</p><p>"Er, no. Not that I'm aware of, anyway." He toyed with the cup in his hands. "I was thinking of an incident, about three hundred years ago?" At the demon's blank look, the angel lost his nerve, and quickly backpedaled. "Never mind. It's nothing. I'd only wondered if you were in the area at the time." He drained the rest of his cup, for something to do. For an excuse not to keep running his mouth.</p><p>"You all right?"</p><p>"Of course!" Aziraphale said, too brightly. "More wine?"</p><p>They continued for a while longer, until Crawly finally stood and stretched and said he'd best be off, and Aziraphale saw him out. </p><p>The angel stood for what felt like a long time at the open window, looking out into the street, watching Crawly go into the darkening evening.  After awhile, he sighed, and turned away, snapping his fingers twice--once, to clean up, and again to sober himself up. Whatever he was thinking just now, best to do it with a clear mind. And anyway, drinking was usually more enjoyable with company. </p><p>Neither were very big miracles, though the last made the angel shiver a bit as the alcohol left him, and for a moment he thought the feeling lingered a little too long, and then he turned--</p><p>He was not alone.</p><p>There, in the center of the room, looking very disheveled and very unsteady, was Crawly. But a very different Crawly than the one who had just left. The one who was still, if Aziraphale looked over his shoulder, still visible on the street outside.</p><p>"'Zira," this Crawly said--<em>slurred</em>, his voice little more than a barely intelligible mumble--before he wobbled and stumbled, and then pitched forward suddenly.</p><p>Aziraphale didn't think. He only caught the demon before he passed out cold on the floor. Standing there, in shock, holding the slumped weight of Crawly in his arms, Aziraphale froze. He stared down at Crawly--at the short hair, and the strange clothes--and he didn't know what it <em>meant, </em>he didn't know why this was <em>happening. </em></p><p>"Crawly?" He laid the demon down on the straw bed, giving his shoulder a useless shake. "Crawly?"</p><p>There wasn't a response, only Crawly's head lolling to the side, close to Aziraphale's face as he leaned over him, and while the angel was at least reassured that he was breathing--not strictly necessary, but a good sign nonetheless--it made it very easy to tell just what the problem was.</p><p>"Oh, good Lord." Aziraphale drew back, his nose wrinkling. Somehow, it had not occurred to him before that it was possible for occult and ethereal beings to drink enough alcohol to lose consciousness. He hadn't had a reason or a desire to test it. </p><p>Disturbed, and with little other choice, Aziraphale took a seat at the table, turning the chair so he could watch Crawly. It felt like the only thing he could do--wait for Crawly to wake up. And hope for... for... well, he didn't know what to hope for.</p><p>So far, everything about this--these strange encounters with Crawly--had been confusing, even <em>infuriatingly</em> so. But there now, he wondered, for the first time, if something wasn't really, truly, very <em>very </em>wrong.</p><p>He didn't get to ask Crawly. Not this night, anyway. He didn't wake again, not here. Only a few minutes later, he was already disappearing again, back wherever--<em>when</em>ever--he'd come, and there was nothing Aziraphale could think to do to stop him.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>Several Days Later</em>
</p><p>For once, Crowley landed with blissfully little fanfare. One moment he'd been riding in the lift in his building, the next he was standing in an unfamiliar dimly lit room. He caught himself on the edge of a table before he tripped from the shock of the sudden shift and the not at all unusual dizziness that accompanied it, but otherwise, it was one of his easier traveling experiences. </p><p>Straightening up, he slowly turned in a circle, taking in the room around him. It was, clearly enough, fairly standard inn fare. Straw bed. A table and two chairs. Though Aziraphale wasn't anywhere to be seen at the moment, Crowley easily recognized his things--a familiar too-white envelope, opened and discarded on the table; the angel's trunk that he often carried around with him when he didn't he didn't have a regular base of operations, and was, as far Crowley knew, still stashed somewhere in the bookshop, miraculously preserved across all that time. Or perhaps there was just something inherently magical about anything that belonged to an angel for that long, who knew?</p><p>The one thing that Crowley was expecting that was missing, at least at first glance, was itself a miraculous item. Frowning, he searched the usual places--the table, the bed. He even nudged aside the Heavenly missive in case it was hiding something under it. Perhaps he hadn't unpacked it yet?</p><p>Crossing to the room's single window, Crowley pulled it open to look out. Bright, mid-morning sunlight streamed in and he squinted against it to try to get his bearings. He was somewhere hot and desert-y, apparently. Right. Egypt, maybe? Middle East somewhere? It'd help if this window pointed at something helpfully identifiable--like maybe a big "Thebes City Limits" sign, for instance. Crowley groaned. This was why he needed Aziraphale's notes. If this were modern times, he'd just take a walk around. It was a bit more of a hassle, the farther back he found himself. Changing his clothes was a pain--if he got yanked back without his normal clothes, <em>welp. </em>Too bad. Hope he wasn't attached to them. </p><p>(There was, in fact, a small dragon's hoard of abandoned Crowley belongings in a certain Soho bookshop, accumulated across the millennia and safeguarded by the angel, gathered up each time something was left behind with the intention of returning it, though inevitably one or both of them always managed to forget.)</p><p>Experimentally, Crowley snapped his fingers, intending to magic one of the chairs at the table closer to him. A tiny miracle, normally, that should have taken very little effort. The chair gave a great shudder, and there was a squeaking noise as it scraped on the floor, and then it moved... all of two inches.</p><p>Right then. Not an easy day for miracles.</p><p>With nothing else to do except wait for Aziraphale--and suddenly weary from even attempting <em>that </em>little bit of effort while outside of time--Crowley settled for searching through the trunk. The trunk opened to him without issue, even though perhaps it shouldn't have, not that he noticed. He sat cross-legged on the floor and began carefully rooting through the angel's things, wishing he could just miracle up what he was looking for, but he was already tired from the one attempt, and it just wasn't worth it so soon after. Miracles while time travelling were always a tricky thing. They took more effort, generally, like Crowley was trying to draw on his demonic powers from a great distance away. Or like the miracle equivalent of what happened when too many people were trying to use the same wifi, maybe.</p><p>Aziraphale had--would--once, around 2004 or so, suggested that miracles were so difficult while traveling because there were technically two of Crowley on Earth trying to access the same store of demonic power at once. Maybe. There had been a very pleasant two days in ninth century Bavaria with his angel that Crowley was fairly sure coincided with a very <em>un</em>pleasant discorporation episode that landed him in Hell for a couple decades. </p><p>Crowley didn't hear the door open, busy as he was searching through the trunk for one particular scroll with a very particular angelic power signature on it. </p><p>Someone cleared their throat behind him. "Ah..."</p><p>Crowley turned to see Aziraphale standing in the doorway, looking unsure. "Hey, angel. Quick question. Where do you keep the list?"</p><p>The angel merely blinked at him. "List?" </p><p>"Little scroll thing." Crowley made a gesture with his hands like he was rolling something up. "Tracks when I've been here. Tells me where and when I am so I don't have to wait for you to get my bearings." Aziraphale nodded, but rather than produce the scroll from wherever it was hiding, he only continued to stand in the doorway, wringing his hands worriedly. Oh. "...I guess it doesn't exist yet."</p><p>"No." Aziraphale stepped farther into the room. "This is only the fourth time I've seen you, like this."</p><p>"Oh." Crowley wanted to say <em>Lucky you, </em>but it sounded too bitter, even in his own mind, so instead he just kept his mouth shut.</p><p>"Do we see each other often... like this? When you're..." Aziraphale gestured at him, looking embarrassed. "Traveling?" </p><p>"...Fairly often, yeah." Crowley pushed himself to his feet. "Not fully sure <em>how </em>often, you understand, as it seems pretty random." </p><p>The angel's brow furrowed. "You have seen this list, though. You must have <em>some</em> idea of where you're going."</p><p>"Not really, no." Aziraphale made a surprised, skeptical noise. Crowley shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Don't exactly have the thing memorized." Mostly, he just desperately didn't want to know how few dates he had left.</p><p>The angel frowned, but still, after a moment, he waved his hand, and a piece of parchment unfurled into it. He handed it to Crowley wordlessly.</p><p>"Thanks." Crowley took the parchment and looked down at the date and location--<em>Giza, </em>his first guess was right, apparently--written out in Aziraphale's careful handwriting, as if the angel had actually taken pen in hand himself to write it down. "It's supposed to register automatically," he added helpfully. "Not much use, otherwise."</p><p>"Of course." Aziraphale snapped his fingers, but nothing obvious changed. Still, Crowley had seen it work enough to trust that it <em>would.</em> When Crowley glanced back up at Aziraphale, though, his expression was oddly pinched. "Crawly..." he said slowly. "I know I don't fully understand... <em>at all... </em>what's happening here, but... is everything all right?"</p><p>As a rule, Crowley didn't lie to Aziraphale, at least not when he could help it. Wiggled around the truth a bit when he couldn't. Because the truth--the <em>whole</em> truth--never actually helped anything at all.</p><p>So, rather than answer the question, Crowley hesitated, and in the space of his hesitation, Aziraphale hastened to add, "It's just... You were just here, actually. Only a few days ago." He took a step closer, then seemed to hesitate, and stopped. "You seemed... ah... very distressed."</p><p>"Oh." Well, that wasn't especially surprising. "It might not have happened yet for me. I don't see you in the same order you see me."</p><p>The angel nodded, though he somehow looked even more uncomfortable now, which was quite the feat indeed. "You weren't here for very long. Perhaps ten minutes. And not conscious for most of it, I'm afraid."</p><p>"Oh," Crowley said again. He wasn't sure what else to say. Somehow, <em>Yeah, that sounds familiar</em> and <em>That doesn't narrow it down a lot, angel, sorry </em>didn't strike him as very reassuring, even if they were accurate. "Right. Well. Don't remember that time specificially." He ran a tired hand across his face. "But the thing is, though I can't, y'know, control when and where I go, and sometimes it just <em>happens. </em>Like just now, it just kind of <em>happened</em>." Aziraphale was nodding to show he was listening, though Crowley wasn't sure how much of this made any actual sense to him at this point. It'd been happening to <em>him </em>for years at this point, and he still struggled to make sense of it half the time. "But there are triggers sometimes. Exhaustion. Stress. That sort of thing, mostly."</p><p>"And alcohol?"</p><p>"Er." Crowley tried to look sheepish. He was afraid it came out guilty instead. "The alcohol was mostly for the stress. And mostly when it first started happening." </p><p>"I see." There was a long pause, when neither of them seemed to know what to say, before the angel finally said, "Well, as interesting as this is, I do have things I need to be doing..."</p><p>"Right, sure. 'Course." Crowley waved his hands in a shooing motion towards the door. Aziraphale frowned at him, but at least didn't argue. "Don't worry, I'll find some way to entertain myself until you get back. Or until I pop home. Whichever comes first." </p><p>The angel sighed, resigned. "I suppose asking you not to stay here is asking too much?"</p><p>"Probably." As if to demonstrate his intentions, Crowley walked over to one of the chairs and collapsed down into it. Aziraphale pursed his lips in annoyance. That was all right. Crowley had it on good authority that the angel forgave him. "Go on, then. I'll be here."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which truly anything can become ordinary and routine, given enough millennia.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Soho, London, 1990</em>
</p>
<p>For Crowley, it almost wasn't that bad. Once you got past the jarring nature of travelling, and the inherent risk of landing somewhere uncomfortable, or worse--he lived in terror of one day visiting Aziraphale during one of the angel's many, many assignments that kept him within the walls of a monastery--it usually wasn't so bad. </p>
<p>It wasn't always <em>easy--</em>he was quite often bored and stuck with few miracles in the distant past, shacked up in rooms he couldn't leave because he couldn't disguise himself unless he wanted to chance losing all of his things, even though sometimes he chanced it anyway, out of sheer desperation. More often than not, he was left exhausted and drained, and he frequently had to be left alone because, even in eras when Aziraphale was <em>happy </em>to see him, the angel still had a life and duties of his own that didn't involve babysitting a demon all day. Not that Crowley wanted that either--the thought prickled at his pride--but when he was left alone, with little to do except wait and feel irritable and just <em>miss </em>his angel so damn much, it didn't actually sound so bad after all.</p>
<p>Sometimes, though, it was simple. Sometimes, Crowley'd go to sleep in his flat in Mayfair, and wake up on the sofa in the bookshop's backroom. Sometimes with a blanket tucked around him. Sometimes, if he was very lucky, he'd wake to the feeling of an angel's fingers carding through his hair.</p>
<p>When Crowley awoke this time, at first he thought he hadn't moved at all. It still felt like his bed under him--he hadn't fallen asleep on top of the covers, had he? And there, when he pressed his face into his pillow, there it was--the scents of tea and old books and cocoa and, somewhere lingering underneath, that faint edge of brimstone that signaled who the bed was really meant for. Crowley didn't get up right away, only hugged his pillow to him and breathed as his head cleared--from sleep or travel, it was hard to tell, at least without knowing how long he'd been there. Perhaps both. </p>
<p>He didn't live here, and when he was out in time there were so many other places to go that weren't <em>here, </em>but when Crowley was traveling, the bookshop was always home.</p>
<p>When he was ready to rouse from bed, the demon took a moment to take stock of things as he got up. Midday sunlight was coming in through the window. The flat was quiet, but he could hear the distant sort of noises from downstairs that told him activity was going on down there. As he stood and moved around the bed, he passed by the window, and a quick glance told him that he'd landed at a time when he wouldn't be <em>so  </em>out of place for once. There were cars in the street, anyway.</p>
<p>To an outside observer, the upstairs flat--as well as the back room--of A.Z. Fell &amp; Co. had the look of a place protected against the meandering antics of a particularly unsteady toddler. It was all plush carpeting and soft, rounded edges to furniture. Crowley had never been up here before he started time traveling--had never been invited, had always assumed Aziraphale didn't want him there, or at least, wanted a private space to himself, regardless of whether he was specifically looking to bar Crowley from it or not. In retrospect, when Crowley saw the space for the first time, and realized how blatantly it was designed for <em>him</em>--albeit still predominately in the angel's style, of course--with its attention to eliminating as many chances as possible for him to appear somewhere painful, and instead giving him a <em>literal </em>soft landing... Well. It made a bit more sense in that context.</p>
<p>Of course, having a soft place to land hadn't stopped the demon from appearing in the middle of the bookshop itself, which was a lot harder to Crowley-proof. And trying to contextualize anything about his relationship with Aziraphale <em>before </em>was... complicated. </p>
<p>Crowley briefly contemplated what to do with himself now, before deciding he didn't want to hang around the flat on his own. He was barefoot and sunglasses-less at the moment, which might have limited his options somewhat, but there were ways around that.</p>
<p>In Aziraphale's wardrobe, hanging in plain sight when Crowley opened it, alongside the angel's usual creams and browns and light blues, was one single, full outfit all in black--a t-shirt, a jacket, a pair of skinny jeans, and, what he reached for now, a pair of snakeskin boots. Crowley didn't remember leaving these behind--hadn't been to that particular event yet--but Aziraphale had <em>blushed </em>when Crowley had asked him where the clothes had come from, so he had a few ideas. He was rather looking forward to it.</p>
<p> He put the boots on, then left the bedroom and headed for the stairs down to the shop. He passed the sitting room on his way, humming at the presence of the 1960's-era television set that looked markedly out of place with the rest of the flat. </p>
<p>Downstairs, Crowley caught a glimpse of blonde curls near the front of the shop, but made a beeline first for the backroom first. He'd see his angel in a minute, and from the sound of things, Aziraphale was busy discouraging a customer from buying one of his precious books at the moment, anyway.</p>
<p>The backroom of the bookshop was a place Crowley had spent quite a lot of time <em>before, </em>and it looked much the same as it had the last time Crowley had stood in here when he wasn't traveling, and it looked the same as it had all the times he'd sat back here, drinking and talking with Aziraphale over the years, discussing the Arrangement or the Antichrist or whatever else they might have used as an excuse for each other's company. The difference, mostly, was now Crowley knew the room's secrets.</p>
<p>He found the stash of sunglasses--accidentally left behind or miracled there to be convenient, it was hard to say. They were hands-down the easiest thing for Crowley to leave behind on accident over the years, so maybe no miracles were necessary except to preserve them across time--tucked away in a drawer in a side table next to Aziraphale's armchair. He found the list, tucked away and completely innocuous, on a shelf just behind the angel's desk. </p>
<p>Slipping a pair of glasses on, Crowley meandered over to the shelf and pulled down the list from its place there--sometime over the centuries, when bound books overtook scrolls as the common way to record things, the list had metamorphosed into a small, leather-bound tome that never seemed to run out of space. Crowley hadn't asked Aziraphale if he'd miracled it consciously or if it had happened on its own as their needs changed, and he wasn't altogether sure when the transition even happened.</p>
<p>Crowley flipped through the book until he found the last written entry. <em>The Bookshop, Soho, London, August 22, AD 1990.</em></p>
<p>Not wholly surprising, given some of his context clues, but useful information nonetheless.</p>
<p>Back out in the shop proper, Crowley found Aziraphale closing up shop early. He didn't startle when the demon came up behind him and settled his chin on the angel's shoulder and folded himself around him--only reached up and patted Crowley on the cheek before locking the shop's door and saying, "Hello, dearest. How was your trip?"</p>
<p>"Mm. Easy. Fell asleep in my flat. Woke up in our bed." If Aziraphale noticed the distinction in possessive pronouns, he didn't ask about it. </p>
<p>(Aziraphale <em>has</em> asked. Of course he's asked. Every single time a horribly distressed Crowley has turned up, he has <em>wondered </em>and <em>asked. </em>It was just that, after the first several times only ended in making the demon <em>more </em>distressed, he had to be more careful. The last time had been so bad Crowley had simply disappeared from the stress. So he didn't speak his questions aloud anymore, and quietly wondered what the <em>hell </em>he was apparently doing in the future while his demon suffered so.)</p>
<p>"Already fed up with customers for the day?" Crowley asked. Aziraphale had finished locking up now, and had started walking away from the door. Crowley stayed half-encircled around him, even as he moved.</p>
<p>"That last woman tried to buy one of my first edition Austens," the angel said with a sniff. </p>
<p>"The <em>nerve</em>."</p>
<p>"And I thought I saw you skulking about." Aziraphale half turned his head to look down at him. "...All right?"</p>
<p>"Ngk. Yeah." Embarrassment wasn't a very comfortable look on a demon. "Just... spent a lot of time with you lately, you know, pre-Rome." It always made him a little clingy. He hadn't even been to Rome yet--not the one he meant now, anyway. Didn't matter. He knew it was when <em>this </em>part of their relationship had started. The part that made Aziraphale's bed Crowley's bed, too, and made Aziraphale call him things like <em>dearest, </em>and made it perfectly okay for Crowley to cling onto his angel like he was afraid <em>Aziraphale </em>might vanish into thin air at any moment instead of the other way around.</p>
<p>Aziraphale made a little sympathetic noise. "I imagine that also means you've been cooped up quite a bit lately."</p>
<p>Crowley raised his head slightly from the angel's shoulder. "A bit, yeah."</p>
<p>Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. "Would you be amenable to an outing, then? There's a lovely little bistro that just opened up around the corner..." </p>
<p>Laughing a little, Crowley straightened up. This was hardly a turn of events that bothered him. "Sure, angel. Wherever you want to go."</p>
<hr/>
<p>The thing of it was, most of the time Crowley felt like he was playing a game--the kind of game where he didn't get to know the rules until he stumbled into most of them and guessed at the rest, and where he wasn't allowed to give up and go home when it became patently obvious that he was going to lose.</p>
<p>Some things were constants. He only ever went where Aziraphale was. He never traveled earlier than that first time Aziraphale saw him on the road to Uruk. He never traveled later than the summer of 2008, and never after he delivered the Antichrist. He kept half-expecting to show up one day in the gardener's cottage on the Dowlings' estate, but it never happened. </p>
<p>Crowley went wherever Aziraphale was, but the bookshop kept drawing him back, over and over. Crowley never looked at the list to see how many times he time traveled, but even without it, he knew he went there with staggering frequency. Even considering that eighty or so year period after the Holy Water fight seemed to be its own kind of dead zone. But where once Crowley's visits, for Aziraphale, were spread out across decades and centuries, after 1800, the time between could--<em>mostly</em>--be counted in months. Sometimes only weeks. Never with consistency, of course.</p>
<p>It was the reverse for Crowley, in a way. He didn't get to spread his time out across five millennia. It worked much more quickly for him, and in the beginning--when it was still new and terrifying and there was still a nugget of <em>hope</em> that maybe this would turn out okay after all, when he churning through dates like they didn't even matter--it almost hadn't been so bad. </p>
<p>But it slowed eventually. Because he couldn't keep doing this forever. Eventually, he'd have to stop. </p>
<p>Crowley didn't know what he was going to do when this had to end.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I feel like it's probably worth noting now, but this fic has two Acts to it. It <i>does</i> have a Happy Ending. You know, after the angst. This chapter is partly a promise for happy things I want to write between now and then--Rome; just what Crowley was doing to lose all his clothes in a way he'd look forward to; why and when Aziraphale got a television. Stuff to look forward to!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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